


yours and mine

by dicaeopolis



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: And Other Lewd Things, Established Relationship, Fluff, Future Fic, Kissing, M/M, hand holding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-18 11:54:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11290203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dicaeopolis/pseuds/dicaeopolis
Summary: “Hey,” Kuroo says suddenly, still gazing out at the rain. Across the street, a newspaper is growing sodden on a bench. “D’you want to make a run for it?”





	yours and mine

**Author's Note:**

> when it rains i write kurotsuki
> 
> [betsy](http://www.twitter.com/owlinaminor) saves my life regularly
> 
> title is from the fountains of wayne song (can't find a youtube link sry)
> 
> on [twitter](https://twitter.com/dickaeopolis/status/879439846154145792) and [tumblr](http://vivasimplemindedness.tumblr.com/post/162289621208/yours-and-mine)

_ today _

“Jeez,” says a voice behind Kei, “when did it start coming down like this?”

“I thought you were choosing the vegetables,” Kei says instead of answering. He hadn’t heard Kuroo come up behind him, but here he is, stepping up next to Kei at the open front of the store and peering out at the downpour.

Kuroo hefts the brown paper bag on his arm to show it to Kei. The cool breeze of the rain swirls up against Kei’s face, and flutters the paper signs on the crates of apples and cabbage and beans behind them. At their feet, the rivulet of water down the sidewalk is splattering dark spots up against the cuffs of Kei’s jeans. “Already got ‘em. No deals from Minami-san this week, unfortunately.”

Kei snorts. “Maybe because you didn’t flirt with her this week.”

“Tsukki, it’s just my face.” Kuroo’s laughing, even through the protest. “You know you’re the only one for me.”

“Sap,” Kei mutters. Kuroo grins at him, and then they both turn to watch the rain drip off the store’s awning. Puddles are starting to pool in the road’s plethora of potholes.

Between them, quiet fingers find their way into Kuroo’s hand. Kuroo grins wider.

“Hey,” he says suddenly, still gazing out at the rain. Across the street, a newspaper is growing sodden on a bench. “D’you want to make a run for it?”

Kei’s brows furrow. “What - now? No, I don’t. We’ll get soaked.”

“But once you’re all wet, you can’t get any wetter,” Kuroo points out, with that lilt in his voice that means he’s already decided. “C’mon, let’s go for it.”

“The vegetables -”

Kei’s already fighting a losing battle, but then Kuroo smiles at him - not a smirk, but a real smile, with his eyes crinkling at the corners and shining like it’s Christmas - and Kei is following him out from under shelter before his brain can get a word in edgewise.

The rain hits like a watery wall against Kei’s front. He shivers involuntarily as droplets roll down the back of his collar - and now water is splattering against his nose and eartips and scalp, slowly soaking through his hair and his jacket.

Kuroo is just laughing, tugging him along. Kei’s glasses are coated in raindrops, so he follows blindly - and stops when Kuroo stops, halfway down the street to the small lot where they left their car.

“You’re nuts,” Kei takes the opportunity to tell him, voice raised above the wind. Kuroo’s hair is damped down against his head, and it’s taken about three centimeters off his height. He looks like a sodden kitten, which is hilarious, so Kei can hardly be blamed for the smile in his voice when he repeats, “Absolutely nuts.”

“It feels nice, though, yeah?” Kuroo responds, and lets go of Kei’s hand to place the sodden brown-paper bag down onto the pavement. When he straightens up, he throws his arms wide, closing his eyes and smiling a smile that spreads through Kei like a cup of hot cocoa on a chilly autumn morning.

“Dork,” Kei says. He pulls off his glasses and slides them into his pocket (they’re useless now anyway), and tilts his head back to the sky, letting the cool rain stream down his face and weigh down his jacket. Kuroo was right - he really can’t get much more cleansed than this. “Bet you thought it’d be  _ romantic.” _

“Mmm. Is it?” Kuroo inquires.

His voice is closer. Kei opens his eyes just in time to see Kuroo’s fuzzy form moving towards him. “Hey-”

He steps. Kuroo turns.

The rain is coming down in buckets on Kei’s head and shoulders, the brown paper bag is crumbling at their feet, and Kuroo is pulling Kei into a dance. Nothing graceful - knees bump, and feet slip - but Kuroo’s left hand is in Kei’s and his right is resting on Kei’s shoulder and they’re moving to some imaginary rhythm that Kuroo must’ve found in the middle of the sidewalk.

“You’re a lost cause,” Kei whispers. (Close enough that Kuroo can hear, because Kei’s leaned down to rest their foreheads together.) Kuroo smiles into the half-centimeter of space between their lips. “A hopeless case-”

Rain is streaming down the back of Kei’s neck, and he kisses Kuroo, because what else is there to be done about it, really.

_ tomorrow _

It’s a rare morning that Kei wakes up before Kuroo. He sits up against the headboard and takes a minute to appreciate it.

Their sheets are scrunched up down at Kuroo’s lower back, and he’s stretched out on his stomach, head buried in the pillows as always. He’s lean and suntanned - shoulders a little broader than they were in their volleyball days, skin a little rougher with wear.

“Like what you see?” Kuroo inquires, eyes still closed and voice fuzzy with sleep and amusement and the pillow his mouth is smooshed into.

“I like it when you’re not talking,” Kei mumbles.

Kuroo chuckles, low and lazy, and turns his head to press his nose into Kei’s hip. He kisses the skin there, soothing over last night’s marks, and then murmurs, “Good morning.”

“It’s raining,” Kei tells him.

“Rain is nice.”

“Why’d we pick a beach honeymoon, anyway.”

Kuroo sits up, stretches his arms over his head, and grins at Kei. “You love the beach and we both know it.”

The rain is drumming on the roof of the tiny cottage and drizzling down outside the window. Kuroo hops up to opens the window anyway, letting in cool, fresh air and the slow rumble of waves and the smell of salt, and then hurries back to slip under the sheets next to Kei. Kei twines his fingers into Kuroo’s messy hair, scritching idly at the nape of his neck and twisting up the soft black strands.

“I can get used to this,” Kuroo says. after a moment.

“What, me petting you?”

“That’ll never get old.” Kuroo turns onto his side, smiles up at him. “But I meant this.” He catches Kei’s left hand in his own, tilts it so the cloudy light glows in the gold.

Kei slides down to rest his head on the pillow, watching Kuroo watch him. He tangles his fingers into Kuroo’s own left hand, feeling the bump of smooth metal.

“Me too, I think,” he says.

Kei bends his head to kiss Kuroo’s fingertips, one at a time, and then takes Kuroo’s hand in both his and kisses the ring, gold warm against his lips.

When he looks up, Kuroo’s eyelashes are low and trembling.

“Come here,” Kuroo breathes, and Kei goes.

_ onward _

It’s Kuroo’s and Kei’s turn to host Christmas, and most of their friends have already burst in the door. There are no new kids this year, finally, and the pack of ‘cousins’ bundled up and headed outside to burn off their energy sledding - Kei made sure that their energetic older daughter wasn’t dominating the fun, and that their shy younger son was part of it at all, and then left the children to their own devices. Yamaguchi is already a little giggly on the hard cider Yachi brought, Tanaka and Nishinoya are teamed up against Kageyama and Hinata at the foosball table, Suga is tending to the fire as Daichi hauls in more fuel from the woodpile (wrapped in his dark layers, he looks like a great bear pushing through the snow), and Asahi and Kiyoko are sharing a small plate of appetizers and a long series of stories. Even Bokuto and Akaashi made it up from Tokyo for the day, with a whole new set of tales about the wild joys of pro volleyball.

There’s carols on the kitchen radio, there’s cocoa and hot cider and Kuroo’s appetizers. Outside the window, the sunshine sparkles bright off last night’s fresh snow.

Kei acknowledges, less grudgingly than he once would’ve, that maybe, somewhere in there, he found himself happy.

It’s still madness by the time midday rolls around, though. Kei’s mother’s family is flying in from the Netherlands for the holidays, and meeting them at the airport will provide Kei a welcome respite from the chaos. In the kitchen, Bokuto has wrestled his phone onto the aux cord of the kitchen speakers, and is blasting a dubstep remix of Jingle Bells as Kei finds his shoes amongst the mess of snow-caked boots piled up by their doorway.

“What time are you picking them up?” Kuroo asks, leaning against the doorframe.

“Their flight gets in at three, I should be back in time for dinner.” Kei doesn’t look up, concentrating on tying his Converse.

“Pasta?” Kuroo suggests. Kei isn’t looking at him, but he knows by heart that Kuroo’s arms are folded loosely across his chest, and the top two buttons of his flannel are open, and snowy sunshine through the window is coloring the stray strands of his hair auburn, and he’s smiling.

“Sounds perfect,” says Kei, instead of acknowledging all the other things. He stands up then, though, and Kuroo is smiling at him and Kei is smiling back, and thinking about his best life and his current life and all the ways they are the same. Such as, for example, the sunshine in Kuroo’s hair.

“You two,” says Bokuto, cheerfully breezing by to smack a wet, noisy kiss on Kei’s cheek, “are gross. Love you.”

“Love you too, hotshot,” Kuroo laughs, even as Kei splutters in indignancy, and the moment’s gone.

(But then again, Kei thinks, maybe, instead, it’s stretching. Spreading itself broad and boundless over days and years of decades of Kuroo’s hair in the sun, pasta for dinner.)

Kuroo catches Kei by the hand before he leaves. Kei turns for the kiss, easy as a smile.

“Pasta for dinner,” he promises again. And even as he heads out to the car, Kuroo’s kiss stays with him, warm and broad and boundless.


End file.
